


Top Out

by bonehandledknife (ladywinter), Primarybufferpanel (ArwenLune)



Series: The Mountains Are The Same [47]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: F/F, Gen, Post-Movie(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 09:48:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6652993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladywinter/pseuds/bonehandledknife, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArwenLune/pseuds/Primarybufferpanel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Top-out : To complete a route by ascending over the top of the structure being climbed.</i><br/> </p><p>Johanna hummed a little as she carefully poured the hot water onto the tea leaves with a hand made steady by long practice with tattooing. The process was soothing even if it was much different from the simple act of making tea from before the world fell; now the water had to be fetched from a communal tap instead of from a kitchen sink, and heated to boiling by the concentrated sunlight in a solar oven.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Top Out

"I'm uh... looking for, for uh, Treb?"

Treb looked up at the very young voice. It was a warpup, so young he was barely painted. Or no, they did that differently now, didn't they? The young boy, perhaps even younger than the age they usually went to the Dens, had a symbol on his chest and forehead, and swirls around his arms. His skin was a shade brown not far from Treb's own, and there was something nice about not seeing it covered up like it shouldn't be seen. The pup was hopping from one foot to the other, his little face somewhere halfway between nervous and excited.

"That's me," Treb said, gesturing the boy closer to where he was sitting amidst the spare parts that might at some point be something resembling a guitar. The boy looked behind him uncertainly, and Treb had thought he'd seemed very young to be sent down to the barracks on his own, but apparently somebody had come with him.

That person stayed out of sight, but the pup, apparently encouraged, came into the new Doof Room. He fell silent as he looked around with wide eyes, at Clef who was touching up his paint, but especially at the instruments, whole and in pieces.

"I'm Treb," said Treb, trying to draw the boy's attention. "Was there something you wanted to tell me?"

"Oh!" the pup stared longingly at the small stack of metal tonemakers by Treb's right hand. "Miss Marienny says... says that drumming is, umm.. the day after Tenday, at um… at six bells," it came out haltingly, clearly trying to repeat the message he'd been given.

"And did Miss Marienny say where it would be?"

"Umm…" the little face went panicked, and Treb almost regretted asking - he was sure he'd be able to find the music once it started.

Somebody leaned around the doorway, and it turned out to be an older war pup, looking impatient.. "In the mess hall," he said, and the young pup nodded with relief.

"Thank you for the message," he told the pup seriously. "What's your name?"

"Damar."

"Will you be there too?"

Damar nodded eagerly.

"Do you have an instrument? To make music?"

A headshake.

"Want one?"

The pup's eyes went huge, and the older pup’s head popped back in from around the doorway, and a few minutes later Damar walked away talking excitedly to his companion, both playing with the bells Treb had given them.

 

* * *

 

Johanna hummed a little as she carefully poured the hot water onto the tea leaves with a hand made steady by long practice with tattooing. The process was soothing even if it was much different from the simple act of making tea from before the world fell; now the water had to be fetched from a communal tap instead of from a kitchen sink, and heated to boiling by the concentrated sunlight in a solar oven. Now the tea leaves had to be personally harvested and carefully dried in the sun with a mesh grate weighing down the delicate leaves so they wouldn’t all flutter away. The tea became a product of hours, or days if you counted the growing, instead of just grabbing a tea bag and turning on the stove.

 _Everything is so much more difficult now,_ the History Woman mused glancing up at Feng who’d remained staring out at the horizon. _Everyone, too_.

She rose up carefully from beside the oven, tea pot and cups carefully balanced on a tray. The table where Feng sat was not too far away, under one of the shade screens placed in the middle of the gardens so that workers had a flat clean surface for processing the produce. For the most part the day’s work was done, though half the long table was still covered in drying trays.

Giddy placed her own tray in the center, and sat on the bench across from Feng. She measured the other woman’s expression for a bit, before checking the tea and then pouring them each a cup.

One cup she placed at Feng’s elbow.

The other she lifted to smell, and to sip, to help her wait.

Feng glanced down at the cup. Told it sternly, “I’m not upset.”

Johanna hummed. The tea was very nice, not over steeped, smooth.

Feng seemed to snarl and then tossed back the cup like it was something alcoholic, choked a little at the heat but swallowed anyway and then set down the cup like it personally offended her.

"He's fine, anyway."

“Settled back in Furiosa’s quarters I hear,” Johanna said.

"I'll take the stitches out in a couple of days."

She refilled both Feng and her cups. "You could let Gale do it, if you'd rather not."

“Why would— it’s _my_ surgery and I’ll see it to the end,” the healer protested hotly, “Just because it didn’t go as smooth as the others doesn’t mean I’m going to let him just—”

Johanna raised an eyebrow and sipped at her tea placidly and let Feng’s words sputter against themselves. “ ‘Let him just—’ ?”

“Look, that feral stepped up didn’t he?”

“All by himself, yes. That was fortunate.”

“I hate relying on luck,” Feng grimaced, and on anyone else Johanna would call it sulking. "I should be above that. It was a simple procedure, I shouldn’t have needed to rely on, on—"

“Do you really have an objection to that man?”

She could see Feng trying to come up with something logical to respond with, something that didn't sound like Joe would have said it.

“Or do you hate relying on people so much?”

“People are untrustworthy,” Feng scoffed, “Can’t give them the chance to fail on you.”

“All people?” Johanna prodded and waved at their cups, “Are you saying that I would have poisoned you just now? Plucked the wrong leaves?”

“Nothing like that!”

“Why not?” She gestured around them. “There’s enough herbs here that are medicine and poison both, you and I know that.”

“You, you’re,” Feng stumbled over, “I _know_ you.”

“And you don’t know the others?”

“It’s not the same!”

“So you’re saying you don’t know the others enough to trust them,” Giddy sighed.

“You’re twisting my words,” Feng muttered and drank her tea.

“What makes them untrustworthy then?”

“They don’t have a stake in anything I value, they’re not—” Feng sputtered, “They’re not women, how could they know?”

"Do you think Furiosa is wrong to trust her crew? That Max fellow?"

"What? How does that— that has nothing to do with anything."

"Except that they are not women, but they got to know her, and now they have a stake." Giddy pressed, “And what of when Furiosa refused to talk with you all those many years, calling you untrustworthy?”

“She didn’t even want to take the time to _listen_.” Feng countered, “She was so blinded by her losses that—”

“—it was nothing like what you would’ve done?”

“I don’t refuse to listen! I don’t refuse to _see_.”

And Johanna smiled sweet and wide, “Then I ask you to come with me to that party in a couple days, the one where the women agreed to play music for the war boys. And listen. And see. I daresay some of them will prove themselves trustworthy, if you're willing to see."

Feng’s mouth opened and closed, as she realized the corner she’d been painted into.

“The girls you apprenticed would like to be there, and I think it’d be nice if you give them encouragement. It would be good for them to see you be open to these things, it will give them a chance to learn new ways in this new Citadel. None of the girls will integrate into the Citadel if they don't have a chance to see what that could be like, and to see it modelled by the people they admire."

Feng gave her a sour look, and Johanna smiled into her teacup, not pressing her victory.

She felt Feng’s gaze and waited. Eventually the other woman sighed as if expelling every last bit of air from her lungs.

Johanna sensed more than saw her shoulders loosen and fall.

They sat in silence for a while, enjoying the gentle breeze in this sheltered spot. At some point Feng got up to fetch hot water and pour them both another cup of tea, and then sat back down next to Johanna instead of opposite her.

Johanna glanced at her but Feng didn't meet her eyes as she poured her cup. Johanna tapped twice on the table in thanks.

Feng stared at her fingers and said, “I think at this point we may be the only people who even remember what that means.”

“The tea or the thanks?” Johanna replied.

“Both, either, think they still even want this culture, out there?” Feng nodded towards the wastes.

Johanna heard, _do you think they even still want me?_ , and bumped her shoulder gently against Feng's, “I think you give people too little credit not to want what’s so lovely.”

“Hmph,” Feng muttered, but didn't move away.

Johanna’s shoulder felt electric, jittery, aware.

Careful and slow, Feng gradually leaned in closer and finally put her arm around the small of Johanna's back. Johanna found herself breathing shallowly so that she didn't appear to be affected but wasn't sure how much of that failed. She found a smile wrecking the edges of her mouth as they sat together contentedly, talking softly about the upcoming Tenday and the traditions that were developing.

"Capable came to me this morning, asked me what 'thinking of England' means," Johanna said at some point. "She'd heard some of the warboys talking about it… Did they get that from you?"

Feng only sputtered.

 

* * *

 

Max sat down in a window ledge, nothing very much on his mind. That in itself was unusual enough, and he hummed with an unfamiliar sense of comfort, letting the last sunrays warm his back. He'd slept well, it was almost startling to feel rested, to not feel like he was fighting against exhaustion.

"Don't you look like you're feelin' good today," Vicks voice said from a little distance, and he blinked open his eyes. She made her way to him, still a little unevenly on her sore leg, but moving well enough.

"Hows, hmm, how's the knee?"

She gestured to it with a wince. "Slower than I'd like, but I reckon it's gettin' better finally. Be nice to be out and about more, mingle some and really explore this place instead of sticking to the top levels being all stuck in bed and hovered over." She laughed suddenly, "Just enough time to be roped into helping with this shindig they’re all fired up about.”  

Max nodded and watched her watch him carefully as she approached.

When he didn't tense up she sat down next to him. "You seem settled. That got anything to do with finally gettin' a good night's sleep?"

Max's mind immediately summoned the images of why he'd slept so well, the pleasant tiredness of orgasm, the satisfaction of making Furiosa gasp, the tangle of sex-relaxed bodies he'd curled himself around. He could feel his face grow hot under her gaze.   

She was opening her mouth, clearly to make a comment, and Max was already bracing himself when—

There was the sound of running boots and many voices. Shouting, some sounds of bodies crashing about. And they both looked up as a Warboy came barrelling around the far corner, catching his speed with a hand slapped against the wall and running past them with long strides.

"You wanna get outta the way!" He called as he passed, turning left at the split, and just in that moment the din of many shouting children revealed itself to be a pack of older warpups. They were running, bare feet slapping on the stone, shouting encouragement at each other not to lose 'him'.

Max startled to his feet as they filled the hallway, watching as they ignored him completely in their eagerness to catch the Warboy that had just passed. The front runners had apparently seen where he'd gone, because they also went left at the end.

Max glanced at Vicks who just shrugged.

Before either of them could say anything a second group of pups followed, younger and smaller, a bit more drawn out. They slowed down to the end of the hallway, not having seen there the previous ones had gone. One of the stragglers gave Max and Vicks a pleading look, and Max grunted and pointed at the left corridor.

The kid perked up and ran to the front of the group, leading them left. As they trooped away a second Warboy jogged up, carrying a squirming pup under his arm like a sack of potatoes, and as they saw him the last kids squealed and rushed after the faster group ahead of them.

The Warboy slowed down, nodded to Max and Vicks in greeting, and then jogged after the pups.

"Huh," Max summarized. The last Warboy was clearly moderating his speed to give the pups a chance to outrun him. Some kind of chasing game? But the whole thing, the excitement of the pups, gave him a strange sort of dual-sight, being unable to not notice how it recalled his own mad dash through the Citadel that day that felt so very long ago. He couldn’t decide whether to feel amused at the children, or uncomfortable at the memory of the excitement and whooping, or upset that the young war boys were being taught how to chase, or just calling it another quirk of a people who were slowly becoming his own.

“Let's check it out?” Vicks asked, a wry sort of look about her mouth.

“Mmph.”

They arrived at a fork that would have lead down to the mess hall, Vicks started heading down the other. Max grunted at her in negation.

“They went down this fork - can hear them,” she refuted.

“ ‘s the long way around to the mess, gathers hallways from other levels.”

She blinked, then nodded at him and followed. When they arrived at the mostly empty room, there was only a few war boys there with an air of anticipation and amusement. Max recognized Oti and Kompass. Not long after, the first war boy dashed into the room and started throwing himself over and under the tables, with the pups closest to his heels following suit.

Max and Vicks watched in bemusement as the Warboy was 'captured' in a dogpile and surrounded by pups. They cheered when he raised his arms in the air and sat down on the ground, surrendering. The last of the smaller pups were just trickling into the mess, followed at barely more than a few paces by the sweeper, who put down the pup he'd been carrying and grinned.

“Bring that rusty smeg back to base!”

“Yes boss!” The bigger pups, the ones who were better conditioned and not out of breath, surrounded the Warboy they'd chased and grabbed hold. It took a moment to get enough hands in the right places to lift the Warboy, but they'd clearly done this before, and a moment later the Warboy was getting carried off, with a fair bit of shouting and navigating around tables and benches. The spectating warboys were cheering and hooting.

Max noticed that Kompass and Oti were quietly pointing out specific pups to each other, perhaps keeping an eye on prospective new members for their crews.

"This happen before?" He asked Kompass.

"Oh, every day," the Warboy grinned. "Gotta get 'em to sleep somehow, right?"

Max grunted. He could see the point of letting the kids do some running around before bedtime, and it made sense that they had to build up stamina before they could become warboys.

"Just used to be lower down, keepin' the pups outta notice, you know," Kompass was saying. "It's nice they're allowed to run 'em up here now, ‘specially with them all riled up about music and that party, the lot of 'em have been making a racket. Takes more to tire’em. Got some new routes we can—"

A sudden humming tone sounded through the mess, and all the warboys froze to listen, bodies going tense with anticipation. Max had heard this sound once before, when he was being bled empty into a warboy who had, as sick as he was, immediately come to attention as if the sound alone had flooded his system with sudden adrenaline.

It was the sound of the ancient speaker system coming on, of somebody fumbling with the microphone.

**Author's Note:**

> chinese cultural idiom: tapping two fingers next to your tea cup (as someone is pouring it) is a gesture of thanks towards the pourer.


End file.
